An Easter Between Worlds

I wanted a calm Easter. Just once. Sleep a bit longer, find some quiet place in Lviv, eat something simple, maybe even enjoy the day like a normal person. No fractures in reality, no strange doors, no emergencies. Just peace.

Instead, I heard tires screaming.

I turned just in time to see the car moving far too fast for that street. Then came that familiar moment, the one I’ve learned to recognize better than anything else. Not pain. Not even fear anymore. Just that tearing feeling, like the world itself lets go of me.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in mud.

Cold, wet, very real mud.

I sat up slowly. The air smelled wrong for modern Lviv. Smoke, wood, animals, iron. Voices nearby, tense, confused. I looked up and saw wooden structures, rough walls, people dressed in ways no reenactment ever truly captures. I sighed and got to my feet. “Of course,” I said to no one.

They didn’t like me much at first. I can’t blame them. I looked like trouble, spoke a bit strangely, and had no good explanation for where I came from. By the time they brought me into the court, I had already been called a spy, a madman, and something worse. The hall was full, long tables, armed men, nobles, clergy. And at the end, King Danylo. Calm, observant, the kind of man who listens before deciding.

I greeted him carefully. Respect goes a long way when you have nothing else.

Then luck, or whatever follows me, stepped in again. A guard burst in, breathless, shouting about fire. Granary, spreading fast. I didn’t wait. I asked to be shown. They hesitated, of course, but I caught the king’s eye and said simply that if it spreads, he loses more than grain. He nodded.

The fire was already climbing when we got there. Dry wood, wind pushing it in the worst direction. I didn’t have tools, but I didn’t need them. I’ve seen enough worlds burn to know how to stop one. I grabbed an axe, broke a side structure to create a gap, shouted orders they didn’t fully understand until they saw me doing it. Buckets, lines, water not on the flames but ahead of them. It took time, sweat, and a bit of trust, but the fire died before it could take everything.

That was enough.

No speeches, no explanations. Just results. By evening, I wasn’t a suspect anymore. By night, I had a place at the table.

And it was… good. Better than I expected. The hall was warm, full of light and voices. Bread, roasted meat, painted eggs everywhere. People greeting each other properly. I followed along. “Christ is risen.” “Indeed He is risen.” I said it too, quietly.

The drink was strong. Stronger than I thought.

After a few cups, I started to relax. After a few more, I started enjoying myself properly. I remember raising a cup toward the king at some point and saying something about historic eggs. He didn’t look amused at first, then he did. That was enough for me.

For a moment, it really felt like I got what I wanted. A calm Easter. Warmth, people, no urgency.

Then I felt it.

A shift. Not in the room, but underneath it. That faint pull, like someone searching through layers that don’t quite align. I closed my eyes and focused. There it was. Aelena.

“Took you long enough,” I muttered.

It wasn’t immediate. She struggled more than usual. Makes sense, I suppose. I was far back, further than she prefers to reach. But she found me.

The hall faded gently this time, no tearing, no violence. Just a quiet garden under moonlight. She stood there, composed as ever. I looked at her, then around, then back at her. “I didn’t know Velari could time travel too.”

She tilted her head slightly. “We do not. Not in the way you think.”

“Mm,” I said. “Modest.”

She ignored that, as usual, and told me I was harder to locate this far back. I told her it was worth it. Good food, good people, very strong drinks.

Then everything shifted again.

Cold air hit first. Then the silence of a city that isn’t at peace. Concrete. Distant hum of generators. I blinked and looked around. “Sumy,” I said.

She nodded. Our time.

I asked what the problem was. Her expression changed just enough for me to take it seriously. Two children from a nearby village. She had met them. They were taken. Russian diversants, quiet, careful, leaving no obvious trace.

“And you can’t not intervene,” I said.

“I cannot.”

“But you also can’t make it obvious.”

“That is why I need you.”

Fair enough.

I took a breath, let everything settle. Different world, different rules again. I stretched a bit, trying to shake off the last of the medieval wine.

“We sleep,” I said finally. “You’ve been chasing me across centuries, and I’ve been drinking with a king.”

She almost smiled at that.

“Tomorrow,” I added, already turning toward a place we could stay, “we start the mission.”

I glanced back at her once more. “Try not to lose me again.”

“I did not lose you,” she said calmly. “I found you.”

I smirked. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

For once, nothing shifted after that. Just night, quiet, and the sense that morning would come with work waiting for us.

— Marco